Sand fills a nose and then an ear -
The particulate sleep of death.
A skinbag of sleep tossed from a railcar
By ankles, by your slippery hands
To a barricade at Hell's Gate
Built to hold the sleep-flood back
A few grains longer, a few moments
Spilt; the difference between
Either gorge edge, either gate post
Either paddle wheel, either Flood Rock's
Detonation or an anarchist riot-
300,000 from Patterson
Blowing into ears, into teeth
and soon you are wholly of death.
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